


Something Soon

by outdated



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Eliot Centric, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mental Institutions, References to Depression, but eliot does, everyone is sad, minor implication of sex but it doesnt go anywhere, quentin didnt go to brakebills, the power of gay love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outdated/pseuds/outdated
Summary: in which eliot is losing his mind and quentin has been there, done that





	Something Soon

**Author's Note:**

> yet again i return with a work of questionable quality
> 
> i started watching this show as a joke but its actually really good now im obsessed. ive only seen the first season so thats where most of the characterization and everything comes from

Against all odds, they hadn't kicked him out. Just told him to take a break for a little while. It was a risky move, but after all that Eliot had been through no one thought Eliot proved to be a threat if he still had all his memories--and he had their pity on his side, as much as he hated it. And he knew he had a problem, but he didn't want to stop, so he put up a fight when they tried to make him leave and then he didn't remember what happened after Margo put some spell on him with tears in her eyes and Brakebills was out of sight.

 

It was much too bright when Eliot opened his eyes. As much as he was surrounded by bright colors in Brakebills, this was different. This was fake brightness and not meant to be pretty, just bright enough so he could see every part of himself. This lead to his discovery of the clothing he now apparently had on.

 

“What the fuck am I wearing?” he said, very much out loud, with his arms outstretched examining the boring sweater which was a dull shade of red. And that's when he heard a bed squeak and turned to see a startled man across the room, staring at him. “What? It's comfortable but hideous.”

 

“Uh, right,” was all the mystery man said.

 

‘ _ Not very talkative’ _ Eliot thought and continued to watch this man even after he looked away and back to the book in his hand.

 

“What are you reading?” Eliot asked, only to get another deer-in-headlights look from the man.

 

“Nothing, uh, nothing,” he said.

 

Eliot rolled his eyes, then sighed dramatically and sank back into the pillow? “Where am I anyway?”

 

“You don't know?”

 

“Would I be asking if I knew?” Instinctively he went to reach for the bottomless flask in his pocket, only to frown at the realization it wasn't there anymore. A punch to the gut that he thought he did a pretty good job at hiding.

 

“Um, well we’re in a mental hospital,” the man said tentatively like he was afraid Eliot would jump up and kill him if he said something wrong. “Or a psych ward. Whatever you want to call it.”

 

Again, Eliot sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I guess school couldn't afford one of those fancy rehab centers,” he scoffed, “so they sent me to this shithole.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It was none of anyone's business how he coped, he wasn't supposed to be here and if he wanted to drink himself to death then they should let him. “Tell me, is there a secret drug ring in this place? Anyone selling?”

 

“What? No, we aren't even allowed to have tape or bottle caps in this place, let alone goddamn drugs.”

 

“What a shame,” he said and raised an imaginary glass. “I’m Eliot by the way.”

 

“Quentin.” It was silent for a moment and Eliot would say it was awkward, but at least Quentin wasn't staring at him, just went back to reading. Eliot dreaded the thought of the quiet he would be forced to endure for however long he was in here. “So um, why are you here if you clearly don't want to be..?”

 

The answer was obvious to Eliot, but the least he could do was be nice and try to make a friend in this dump. “Danger to myself and/or others. You know the whole thing.” 

 

The answer seemed to be what Quentin expected but absolutely did not want to hear. “Right,” he mumbled.

 

“Relax, I’m not going to kill you in the middle of the night. It was this or get kicked out of school. I figured this was a little less terrible.”

 

Quentin nodded. “Well it's still early, so we don't have to start going out to the common room or to therapy or whatever for a little while. This place isn't terrible.”

 

Eliot snorted. “Tell me that again when withdrawal starts kicking in,” he said and then went to take a long and hot shower in the connected bathroom before Quentin could say anything else to him.

 

There was a nurse in the room with a tray of breakfast for him when he left the bathroom in a new pair of ugly clothing.

 

“You missed breakfast, but I knew you only got here last night so I saved this for you,” she said and gestured for him to sit on the bed.

 

“Thanks,” he said, and did as she wanted. He ate slowly and deliberately.

 

“You can't miss any meals from now on, but we’ll be pretty lenient today because you’re new,” she said. “There are different therapies you’ll have to go to every day but there is a lot of free time. There’s a lot of activities to do, but we find a lot of patients find comfort in each other. There's group therapy every day before dinner and for now, you’ll be seeing a psychologist here twice a week.”

 

Eliot got it, he knew these nurses were paid to be nice to him because he was all fragile and broken, he really did. That didn't mean he had to listen to it, so he tuned out the rest of her spiel while he finished his breakfast. It didn't stop the groan that escaped every time she opened her mouth.

 

“Of course we do have rules. Don't hurt the other patients, or yourself, go to your scheduled therapies, always take your medication, you know.” Eliot nodded mindlessly, and then she led him out of his room. He got a quick tour, and then the nurse left him to his own devices in the common room.

 

It was quieter than he would have thought it’d be. People talked to each other in hushed voices and it was the total opposite of what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to lose himself in the lights, the bodies, the noise of the parties his house threw. It was much easier. 

 

“Eliot,” a voice called. Not too far away was Quentin alone on a couch. It couldn't hurt to talk to him. Maybe all he had to do was make at least a couple of friends to survive here. 

 

“Hey,” he said and dramatically sat down next to him. 

 

“I asked a nurse to bring you your breakfast. I figured you would miss it so uh, you know.”

 

Eliot snorted. “She didn't say anything about you, took all the credit,” he said. “But thank you.”

 

Quentin just nodded and it fell silent. A mild headache was forming in his forehead. He figured it was withdrawal, and he hoped he would get something to cope with it tonight when they gave him whatever pills they thought he needed. His head rested on his knee and he closed his eyes, though he couldn't quite stoop to begging God to strike him with lightning and kill him or some shit. He could hear Quentin fumbling with something in his hands, and chose to ignore it until the noise became irritating and he had to pick his head up to see what he was doing. 

 

“What is that?”

 

Quentin seemed a little startled and looked back at Eliot. “It's uh, a card deck. One of the few things they let us have,” he said slowly, acting cautiously around Eliot as he had in the morning. It kinda pissed him off. “I've been doing card tricks since I was a little kid.” He watched as he shuffled the deck around and then made Eliot watch a short trick. “See, like magic.”

 

“Magic,” Eliot repeated and then closed his eyes. For a second he had to bite his tongue.

 

“There isn't all that much to do here before lunch, it's all free time. I can show you how to do some things.”

 

Part of him wanted to turn down the offer. It was ridiculous, Quentin didn't know what magic was,  _ real  _ magic. Who cares about silly card tricks when Alice can bend light, and Penny can travel anywhere he wants. Part of him couldn't handle seeing Quentin disappointed and make him even more nervous around him. And he couldn't wallow in self-pity forever.

 

“Sure.”

 

As mindless as an activity that it was, it kept Eliot occupied. By lunchtime, he had easily mastered the tricks Quentin had showed him. He didn't feel too terrible. His headache had gotten worse in the hours he messed with the cards, and it wasn't like he could use magic to fix it. But he could manage. He lived through enough hangovers to last a lifetime.

 

He ate with Quentin, but they didn't speak. A closeness already between them that can only be formed in a bond of trauma. Eliot didn't know what was up with Quentin, and Quentin didn't know Eliot’s issues, but they both still knew the other wasn't all there. Eliot appreciated the silent understanding. And of course, the lack of pity was a nice bonus.

 

“You have a visitor,” a nurse told him after lunch was over. He parted with Quentin and saw Margo standing in the doorway. She looked very out of place. He hugged her anyway. 

 

“You look terrible,” she said.

 

That ripped a laugh from his lungs. “I know, right? I’m not allowed to have anything in here, not even a sense of fashion. How am I supposed to recover in this?”

 

Vaguely he could see a flash of pity in her eyes, but it was gone in a moment. “I would bring you something from home but they searched my bag when I came in here. Alice told me I should bring your homework here but I figured you would burn it.”

 

“You know me too well.”

 

They moved to a couch in the corner and hung out for hours until group therapy time came around and the staff made Margo leave. 

 

“Who was that?” Quentin asked after they sat through therapy and had finished dinner.

 

“Margo,” he said, “She’s my best friend. We go to school together.”

 

Quentin nodded. “She seems nice.”

 

“Not really,” he snorted, “But that's what makes her my best friend.”

 

“I guess I get that,” Quentin said. “Julia is my best friend. I’ve known her since we were little kids. She's a little bit of an asshole but I love her.”

 

They talked for a little while longer, and Eliot said he didn't want to watch the movie that the staff put on in the next room over, so they stayed in the common room together. The headache that was bearable when he was with Margo came back with a vengeance and it drummed inside his skull like a jackhammer and Quentin seemed to pick up on this as he spoke quietly, and stopped altogether when Eliot put his head down. But he never left his side and didn't expect him to engage. A much-needed relief, even if it was a small one.

 

The staff started herding everyone back into their rooms for the night sometime later, and Quentin helped Eliot get to their room so he wouldn't fall over. Quentin didn't turn on the light.

 

“Goodnight,” Quentin whispered after they were both in bed. Eliot hadn't bothered to change out of the clothes he had worn that day.

 

“Goodnight,” he murmured back. He hoped Quentin heard him.

 

{}{}

 

Some days went by. It was more than a week, less than a month. Eliot grew closer to Quentin. His headache got worse. The medicine he was given didn't work. He still talked to Quentin, but he understood when Eliot didn't want to talk. He would back off when he saw Eliot was feeling particularly bad. He got fatigued easier and would barely be able to stay awake until dinner. He felt anxious a lot more now. He knew it was all withdrawal and if he could survive the detox then he would be able to go home to his friends and his signature drink. The psychologist had told him he would develop symptoms of depression due to the withdrawal during one of their meetings. The psychologist said there were plenty of resources to help him get through it. He thought this place was just making him worse. He felt rather miserable. 

 

Eliot sat across from Quentin on his bed with his legs crossed. Quentin was showing him a silly trick with his card deck while telling Eliot about the books he was reading. He thought he heard Quentin mention the name Fillory. He didn't care much, but he would listen for Quentin. It was the least he could do to return the favor of literally everything Quentin did for him. Admittedly Eliot didn't know that much about card magic, but he could figure out what Quentin was doing pretty quickly. He was good, Eliot would give him that. It was something mindless that he could focus on while his headache pounded oppressively behind his skull. 

 

Every time Quentin asked ‘is this your card’ Eliot said yes every time; every time Quentin's face lit up a little. In the period of time he was there, it was only a lie once. He would never admit it, but his stay at this hospital became a little more bearable when Quentin made that face. He’d never say that he loved it.

 

Quentin finished a trick, he asked the question. Eliot said yes once more. 

 

“Magic is real, Q,” he said. It felt like a balloon had popped in his chest.

 

“What?” Was all Quentin had to say to that.

 

“It's real Quentin. There's so much more than your stupid card tricks--”

 

“Hey--”

 

“And it would blow your mind. It's so much more than what you can imagine. I don't go to a boring school in the middle of nowhere across the country. I go to a secret school in upstate New York called Brakebills and it's for magicians to learn magic. Real magic.” For good measure, because Quentin looked at Eliot like he was insane, he mumbled a spell under his breath and made a quick motion with his hands. A ball of light appeared in the palm of his hand. He had it change color a couple of times before he put it out.

 

In a second Quentin’s face went from bewilderment to shock to awe. His eyes didn't leave Eliot’s hands until the light went out.

 

“Do it again.”

 

“I can't,” Eliot said.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Quentin you can't tell anyone about this,” Eliot said. He looked at Quentin. He begged him to understand. “You really can't. They'll wipe my memory, yours too. The dean only let me out because he thought I wouldn't tell anyone. Please. You can't tell anyone.”

 

Quentin didn't argue. He was obviously yearning to see something else Eliot could do and it was taking all his willpower not to ask. But he didn't. He could wait.

 

Quentin grabbed Eliot's hand, which was pulling on his hair in anxiety. “I won't tell anyone. I promise.”

 

“I don't want to forget you.” Eliot’s voice shook, but they both pretended not to hear it.

 

“You won't. I promise.”

 

And then Eliot kissed him. He still held onto Quentin's hand, and his other wound its way into his hair, which was gloriously long and a little greasy due to the lack of taking a shower in the last few days. Quentin kissed him back, and Eliot sunk deeper into the high of the kiss. He pulled away to breathe, and then came back with more intensity. He pulled Quentin closer and closer until he dragged himself into Quentin’s lap and was pleading to get closer than was physically possible.

 

“There’s so much more,” Eliot breathed between a kiss. “There’s so much fucking more that I can show you.”

 

“Eliot,” he whispered and brought his other hand to Eliot’s chest.

 

Eliot didn't give him time to say anything else though. He kissed him again. He led Quentin’s hand down and tried to get him to push his shirt up and off.

 

“Eliot,” he said. He was breathless, but he managed to push Eliot off him. He moved him off his lap and pulled his hands away. “I know what you’re doing, Eliot.”

 

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

 

“You’re an addict, Eliot. I’m not going to let you use me, I won't be the next drug or the next drink or whatever you were on to use to forget about whatever you're going through. It's not good for either of us,” he said. “I really like you, I do, but I can't do this if it just because you want to get high again.”

 

When Eliot arrived at the hospital he promised himself he wasn't going to cry, let alone in front of anyone else. But god he couldn't help it. The tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over a moment later. A shaky breath escaped and he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’ve ruined this.” He dragged Quentin close in again, but now he just hugged him like he was a lifeline. Quentin hugged back.

 

“It's okay, Eliot.”

 

“It's not, Q,” he said, “I shouldn't have done that.”

 

“It was kinda nice, actually.”

 

Eliot laughed wetly and sniffled. He pulled away and composed himself surprisingly quick. It was with practiced efficiency. He wiped his face with the backs of his hands and breathed. “Listen, I’m not going to get sappy and shit, but I care about you, Q. And I’m sorry about that and I don't mean to use you. You really are the best thing in this hellhole.”

 

“I’m honored,” he said and they laughed. “Maybe we can have something. We can take it slow. Help each other. See what the best friends think.

 

Eliot managed a small smile and he nodded. “That actually sounds kind of nice,” he said.

 

“Come here,” Quentin whispered and pulled Eliot into a hug and then fell back against the pillows. 

 

It was quiet, it had gotten late and it seemed like the other patients had gone to their rooms to sleep. It wasn't creepy how silent it was, it was nice. If Eliot closed his eyes he could almost pretend he was somewhere else in Quentin's arms. Almost. 

 

“I had to kill my boyfriend,” he whispered. “That's why I’m in here. That's why I’m an addict.”

 

“You killed someone?” Quentin seemed kind of shocked.

 

“Well, not really,” he mumbled. “A monster killed him long before I met him. It just possessed his body and used his alumni key to get into the school. He used me to stay in the school and fulfill his evil plan or whatever. He killed this woman named Eliza. He was going to kill the dean, but I was there and I was terrified. There was so much blood in the room and he was covered in it too. I don't know what he did to her, but it was awful. The dean couldn't fight him because he’s all fucked up, and he didn't know I was there and remembered the battle magic I had read about and I just… snapped his neck. It was so quick and everyone told me I saved the dean and that it wasn't really a person it was just a monster using me but that made it so much worse.”

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

“I’m a college student, of course I drank and got high but it just got worse after that. I almost died a couple times. I felt like when I wasn't high off my ass or shitfaced that I was going to rip my heart out or scream until I threw up my lungs. Margo was getting concerned because I didn't want to talk about it and I got really sick at this party my house threw. Someone got me to the infirmary and I don't remember that much of it because I was literally dying and I wasn't that scared of it. The dean came and talked to me, which I also don't remember, and I guess he decided that I needed some serious help. It's not like he could throw me out when he needs me to help solve out little monster infestation issue at the school. I fought back and I remember Margo had to do something to me to get me to stop fighting. I never apologized for that. But here I am. You know the rest. 

 

“I can't believe you go to a university with a killer monster on the loose.”

 

Eliot laughed quietly. “It's kind of a normal thing. Magic like this doesn't come without risks.”

 

“I’m sorry all that happened to you.”

 

“Yeah,” Eliot said, “Don't throw me a pity party.”

 

“I won't, I know how much pity sucks,” he said. Gently, he kissed Eliot’s forehead. He let his lips linger there. It was a needed soft and tender moment. A juxtaposition to the harshness of the past few weeks. Few months, really. 

 

“I’m losing my mind Q,” he said. He wasn't quite sure what he was clinging onto, didn't know what he was doing. It scared him shitless. “I really am. I’m really freaking out. I don't want to go insane in here. I’m… I'm terrified.”

 

“Don't worry,” Quentin murmured against his skin. “I won’t let you go crazy. This is my third time here. You don't have to be scared.”

 

Eliot didn't answer. There was a beat of silence.

 

“Do you feel any better?”

 

“Yeah, actually. I needed to get that out,” Eliot said and looked up at Quentin. “Thank you.”

 

Quentin smiled. “We still have a long way to go, but we’re getting there.”

 

“Yeah, I guess we are.”

 

“I’ll tell you my tragic backstory tomorrow morning. We should sleep.”

 

“Sounds like a date.”

 

“You have to show me more of the magic you know though.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Goodnight Eliot.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

When Eliot fell asleep, the drumming of his headache wasn't as oppressive, and it had subsided enough to let him sleep through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> i really found time to write this but not start watching seasons two and three
> 
> anyway thank for reading !


End file.
